


No Longer Masked

by Crescental



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Action, Drama, F/M, revelation fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4151907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescental/pseuds/Crescental
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the police try to arrest Peter again, it ends with his identity being revealed to his school. Well, it couldn't get worse since now he has to worry if one of his classmates will blab his secret, and he still has to evade the increasing amount of police sent after him and the goodies they're mysteriously getting. Seriously, why were they so desperate to get him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Symptoms

Peter actually thought today was going to be a good day. The sun was shining, he had managed to complete all of his homework, and he had left early in order to have enough time to go to school and stop any crimes on the way.

He was in the midst of congratulating himself on leaving so early when he heard glass shattering. There was a robbery just a little down the street. Instantly, he veered into the closest alley and climbed to the roof. He grabbed the mask, gloves, and shoes of his suit from the pockets of his tan-colored jacket. Then, he stripped himself of all his baggy clothing to reveal the Spider-man costume he kept underneath before and after school. Setting his backpack down, he jumped from the roof and shoot a web to a nearby building when he was about to hit the pavement.

His eyes scoured the streets for any disturbance. It didn't take long for Peter to find the location of the crime.

In front of a jewelry store stood three men pointing their guns at nearby citizens. There was another burglar in a car with the doors closest to the store open, ready to leave at any moment.

Two of the men with guns were yelling at civilians, but the one next to the entrance of the shop was screaming at someone inside to hurry up while taking the jewellery that had been on display.

That was when Spider-man swooped down right into the nearest man. Luckily, one of the robbers was directly behind the other, so Peter knocked them both down like a pair of dominoes. When they fell to the ground, their bodies and guns were immediately coated in a heavy amount of webbing. They fruitlessly struggled.

"Hope you kids get cozy," Spider-man quipped.

He heard a gasp from the man in the car, and with a quick press to his web-shooter, the man was strapped to his seat. He was unable to touch the steering wheel due to his arms being trapped to his side, and, hopefully, that would stop him from attempting to drive the car. He heard a couple dings as jewelry fell onto concrete and then the resounding click of a gun being cocked to fire. Peter whirled around to face the thief.

The man pointed the rather large gun at Spider-man, the stolen items laying by his feet all but forgotten. The robber turned his head slightly but kept his fearful and angry eyes on the superhero.

"George! The spider is here!" There was a loud, "What" from within the store before a man bursted through the front door of the building. His hands were full with two medium-sized bags. The burglar with the gun seemed to get even angrier, "You idiot! You left your gun!?"

Somehow, the man seemed sheepish, even through the mask covering his face.

"Please," Spider-man interrupted. "You guys passed idiocy when you thought of robbing a store in the morning, and as fun as this has been, I think this little party has dragged on long enough." He could faintly hear sirens that were getting louder by the second. Once upon a time, he would've been happy to hear the noise. It would've meant that the police would be able to pick up the criminals he had dealt with, but that had changed suddenly when they had started to fire at Peter on sight. Gwen had told him it was probably because a new police chief had been chosen, and he already missed the chief that had been originally picked to replace Captain Stacy. For an entire year, the woman had stopped any mistreatment towards Spider-man, but ever since she had been removed from her position, practically every police officer fired at him. And every time they fired at him, they got closer to actually hitting him. They were learning how to work against his spider-sense.

Peter didn't want to deal with the authorities; this little robbery had to end, fast.

With that thought, he fired a thick coat of web at the burglar with the gun before the man could even react. He collided against the brick wall of the building, stuck.

The other man — George — started to shake, and before Spider-man could blink, he was running away. Innocents crashed into the ground as he rammed into them in a desperate attempt to run.

"Don't run away," Spider-man whined, barely able to hide the anxiousness he felt. The police sirens were getting closer. "I thought we were just starting to know each other."

He leapt into the air, high above the crowd. They collectively gasped at the height he had gained.

The vigilante didn't have time to smirk however as he focused on shooting one strand of webbing onto the back of the sprinting man. Instead of pulling the robber towards him, he flung the man into the air with him.

The man loudly shrieked as his feet left the ground.

Throwing the man into the air caused Peter to land sooner than normal. From the ground, he fired at the man and pulled him to his direction. The man screamed again, even more obnoxious than before. Spider-man was amused to hear some of the people in the crowd giggle.

When the burglar was close enough, Spider-man snatched him in midair. Though the man was much bigger than Peter, he held him by the collar of his jacket so he hung above the ground like a cat would carry her kitten.

The police were turning onto the street now.

In one movement, Spider-man took the two bags from the thief's hands and threw him at the jewelry store. With a quick burst of webbing, he was attached to the door, neutralized. Peter did the same to the two bags in his hand.

Any witty remark he had been about to say died in his throat as police cars swerved to park and officers jumped out of their cars to point their guns at Spider-man.

The confused and shocked gasp that came from the crowd just about matched his conflicted emotions perfectly.

The vigilante weakly chuckled and half-heartedly saluted, "Oops, ha ha... Looks like it's time for me to go."

Before he could shoot a web, one of the many police officers spoke, his voice and expression hard and cold, "You aren't going anywhere." Without another word, te pulled the trigger on his gun, and three more officers followed his example.

Peter's spider-sense blazed in the back of his head. He swiftly moved to the right to dodge the first shot, he ducked to avoid the second and the third, and he jumped to avoid the fourth. He couldn't say or do anything before another gun was fired. It was followed not a split-second later by another shot. He swerved to avoid the first bullet, but he couldn't react fast enough to dodge the second.

It impacted his side. It stung for a second, but it didn't hurt. He looked down, and his heart nearly stopped. It was a dart. With a quick turn of his head, he realized that none of the shots fired had been bullets. They had all been darts. He grabbed the one that had hit him and tore it out of his side. He managed to feel disappointed at the fact that there wasn't a label decorating it before he was forced to drop it, shoot a web to a skyscraper on the other side of the street, jump, and swing over.

Multiple and numerous yells came from the officers. Some got back into police cars, others started to chase after him on foot.

When Spider-man was about to impact the building, he shot another strand of webbing to one on the other side of the street. He swung low to the ground before reaching the peak of his ascent where he twisted his body to fire at the building he had come from.

Peter looped around the building and then stuck to its walls, hiding in its shadows. A few moments passed as he waited for the officers to travel a distance that Peter considered safe. He strained his enhanced ears to hear the pounding of feet and the swerving of speeding cars. He heard them, faintly. And they weren't heading in his direction.

His quiet sigh of relief turned into a harsh cough. The superhero moved a hand to his mouth in an attempt to muffle it when he almost fell forward, like he was too weak to hold himself up with only three limbs. Immediately, his arm sped back to the wall. He was badly shaking, and he could feel sweat collecting beneath his suit.

That was no tranquilizer dart. It was something worse.

He lightly pushed off of the wall to land on the roof of the nearest building. To make sure he hadn't been seen, he hunkered low for a few moments, and payed extra attention to his dulling senses. When he was sure it was clear (his spider-sense further confirming the fact), he jumped from rooftop to rooftop until he reached the one that held his backpack and clothes.

By then, he was breathing heavily and shaking like a leaf. Spider-man shook his head which only succeeded in making him dizzy.

He slowly crouched down by his hidden backpack and fumbled with the zipper. When he finally was able to grasp it, he pulled it up achingly slow, not able to do it any faster.

With the backpack's pouch open, he took out his clothing. He set it down then sluggishly removed the glove from his hand; it was slick with sweat. Peter grimaced, and took off his other glove and then his shoes and mask, all of which took way longer than it should've.

Peter didn't even want to try to take the body of his suit off, no matter how sweaty it was becoming or how it made it possible for students or teachers to see his costume (was he even going to go to school?). He couldn't imagine how long taking it off would take, and, judging from his current condition that seemed to worsen every moment, he didn't have long until he passed out.

As he put his clothes over his suit and put his shoes and socks on, his mind was left to whirl.

He knew that his school was much closer than home, and there was no chance of him walking all the way to his house. He could take a taxi — but then the police flooded into his mind.

They were still searching for him, and they probably wouldn't stop for a while, knowing their stubbornness. How long could he stand on the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi, before the police noticed the symptoms of his current sickness that they were no doubt looking for in people in order to find him.

He groaned and put a hand to his forehead, both at his predicament and the fact that it was getting harder to think with the pounding of his head.

Peter supposed he could just stay in an alley or on a rooftop all day until his sickness wore off… but what if the police found him? He was pretty sure he was going to pass out soon, and even if he didn't lose consciousness, he would be unable to do anything. And he was sure he wouldn't be able to move a distance far enough that could be considered safe. The police could be pretty thorough.

The only thing that he could do — the only thing that made sense to him at the moment — was to go to the school. It was barely a block away, and hardly any one there but Gwen questioned him about the bruises always on his face. Hopefully, he could wear his hood up all day and no one would ask.

Or he could just hide in the janitor's closet.

By the time that final thought had crossed his mind, all of his clothes were on. He stuffed the gloves, shoes, and mask of his suit into his coat pocket as per usual, and, as fast as he could (which was still rather slow), zipped his backpack back up.

He moved down the fire escape, not trusting himself to be able to jump off of the roof or slide down the side of the building.

The superhero put his hood up to hide his sweaty and red face and started the long trek towards his school.

~~**~~

Peter was honestly surprised when he stood in front of his school. He had passed by the large amount of officers in the area, and they had been oblivious to him. The large quivers that racked his body should have revealed him, but they hadn't. He had never been more thankful of his overly large hoody than in that moment.

He pushed the front doors open with more effort than normal and entered the school.

There weren't too many people here. Confused, he checked the time; there was still fifteen minutes before class started. He was so happy he had left early. He had more time than he originally thought to figure things out and find Gwen.

Which wasn't so hard considering she always came early, and they had the same first class. Peter saw her when he walked into the hallway that had both of their lockers and their first class. She looked to be organizing her locker, but she instantly turned to face him (Peter always teased that she had a sense just for him like he had his spider-sense).

A smile flashed across her face before it was replaced by creased eyebrows and then a worried frown.

"Peter!" Gwen rushed over, "What's wrong!? What happened!?" She didn't give him time to answer and instead pushed her hand onto his hooded forehead. She gasped and pulled her hand away, "You're burning up! But you don't get sick…?"

He nodded his head, confirming her unasked question. He opened his mouth to speak but what came out instead was a harsh coughing fit. His lungs burned.

Gwen had moved to his side and was rubbing his back soothingly. It was clear from her face she was unsure of what to do. Peter gave another try at speaking. He didn't burst into coughs, but it was still hard to talk around his heavy and frequent breaths. "Police shot me… with a… dart."

His girlfriend gasped; her fury apparent. "We need to get you to the hospital."

Peter rapidly shook his head which brought a groan from the pain it caused. It spread across his body like wildfire and from the havoc it wrecked, a strong tingling sensation was left.

"They're looking... for me… they'll know."

"Ok… ok… Home?"

Peter was about to shake his head again and say that his house was too far when another problem he hadn't thought of came to mind. If the police were desperate enough, they could bring this to the media, and tell people to look out for people with his symptoms. If he went home… Aunt May would know.

Peter shook his head with newfound energy, "No… Aunt May… would know."

Gwen looked skeptical, "Peter, isn't you being safe more important than Aunt May knowing?"

Peter looked straight into her eyes and with complete certainty said, "Gwen… Aunt May can't know." He shook his head again even though it brought a new burst of pain. The thought of his beloved Aunt finding out what he did in his spare time… He could never do that to her. "She can't."

Gwen sighed. It was clear she didn't agree with him, but she nodded to him anyway. God, he loved her.

"How about school? Were you just planning to go through the day?" Peter managed to sheepishly grimace and shrug. Gwen fondly groaned at his antics and, despite the situation, lightly smiled.

"Janitor's closet?" He rasped out.

His girlfriend frowned in thought. She shook her head. "What if the police look for you all day? You'll be stuck in there unless we can find some way to get you out without giving you away to the other students. And if the janitor comes and finds you…" Peter's face mimicked hers, though his was contorted from pain.

"Dump— " he coughed mid-sentence and swallowed. The whole motion burned his throat.

Gwen's head turned in a no, knowing what he was suggesting. "We're not going to put you in a dumpster, Peter."

Peter grimly smiled, "I've been in worse."

Though Gwen appeared disgusted and concerned from that statement, she pushed on. "Any other ideas?" He shook his head. Gwen worried at her lip, a sign that she probably had an idea — one that was likely to be a last resort. He raised a brow expectantly. She took the cue, "I actually think you should go to class." His surprise must have shown because she hastily continued. "But just our first class! By then, the police might go to other parts of the city. You can call in sick and ride a taxi to my house. No one will be home right now, and you can sleep until then."

The plan didn't sound too shabby, and even if it was, it was really their only option. But what about — "Class?"

Expecting the question, she nodded and elaborated. "You can sit in the back corner, and I'll cover for you if Mrs. Davis asks any questions." It sounded solid. Mrs. Davis, their english teacher for first hour, was pretty lenient. If he told her he wasn't feeling well, she wouldn't pressure him, and she would be fine with Gwen answering most of the questions aimed at the class.

Peter weakly raised a hand and swept it in the direction of their class, one way of telling her to go ahead and lead the way.

She smiled, "Alright, but first we need to get you fixed up." With that, she raised a hand and, with the long sleeve of her shirt, wiped the overabundant sweat off of his face. His raised body temperature leaked off of his skin and trespassed the fabric of Gwen's wrist. He felt like a furnace.

As time passed, his face wasn't as slicked with sweat as before, but the sleeve of Gwen's shirt was growing damp. She didn't look grossed out. If anything, she looked more and more worried.

"Oh, Pete," Gwen whispered worriedly. Her face looked close to tears, "How could they do this?" She rhetorically asked, thinking of the kind men who had worked with her father and how they had shot her innocent boyfriend.

Peter chastely kissed her nose and put his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "I'm fine." He swallowed, "I'll be fine."

Though it still held a lot of weight, her smile was happy and light. Gwen caressed his face and would've kissed him if it weren't for the increasing volume of student's voices and footsteps. She pulled out a phone to check the time; they had seven minutes before class started. She tugged him towards their class, "C'mon. We need to make sure you get the seat in the back."

He stumbled a bit and clenched the strap of his backpack tightly. He hoped his bad Parker luck would leave him alone for a day and that things would, for once, turn out okay. And then he figured that he probably just jinxed himself.

They easily got the seat they wanted since few other people were there. Peter sat at the desk in the far corner of the room opposite of the large rectangular windows. That way, less light shined onto his sickly face. Gwen sat directly in front of him.

Peter delicately leaned against the back of his chair but was careful to keep his hooded head down as to not show too much of his face.

People quickly filled into the class. After an entire year, Peter was no longer surprised to have Flash sit into the seat next to him. He was far used to his old-bully being nice to him, but it was still bizarre.

"Hey Parker," Flash greeted him, turning his body as he did to show his red Spider-man shirt.

Concern filtered onto Flash's face as he took in Peter's ghastly appearance. "Are you okay?"

Even if he wanted to respond, Peter probably wouldn't be able to because of his scorching throat and the fact that Flash had just asked him if he was okay. He was used to the once-bully sitting next to him and being nice, but asking him if he was okay was another story.

Luckily, Gwen covered for him. "He's just feeling a little under the weather."

"A little!?" The bell thankfully chose to rang then and their thirty-two year old teacher walked into the room. She was of course wearing her usual tennis shoes, jeans, blouse, and glasses.

She gave them a cheerful good morning and settled behind her desk as she, and the rest of the students, waited for the usual morning announcements.

When a minute passed, Mrs. Davis stood up. "Let's just assume that there are no announcements today, so —" there was click from the loudspeakers up near the ceiling. "Never mind then," Mrs. Davis muttered.

There was a pause before the principal's voice came through the speakers, surprising them both with his appearance and his reluctant tone.

"Please excuse us for the interruption. It was… reported that Spider-man —" Peter and Gwen stiffened "—was shot with a dart approximately twenty five minutes ago in this general area. Authorities have requested to do a search of the school for people with the following symptoms: harsh coughing, excessive sweating, shallow breathing, abnormally pale skin, dizziness, and a high fever. If anyone, staff member or student, see any of the symptoms, they are asked to call the office. Policemen will also be inspecting the classrooms. They will start at the 1000's hallway and work their way up to the 2000's hall. Thank you." The last few words sounded forced.

There was a click as the announcement ended.

Peter's heart was thundering in his chest. How desperate were they?

"Oh god…" Gwen whispered in dread. She turned around to face him; the emotions on her face spoke a thousand words. "What do we do?" She whispered in a volume only he could hear. His wide eyes and rapid breaths answered her enough.

A sharp bark of laughter cut into the silence of the room. Automatically, everyone's eyes flitted to the jockey in the front row. Peter instantly recognized him as Jordan. He had used to be one of Flash's friends — key word being used. He and the bully-turned-friend had separated when Flash had decided to be stop bullying.

"There is no way—" Jordan continued with a shake of his head that caused the curly hair on it to bounce —"that Spider-man is here at the school. Well, if there was anyone as cool as me." Peter scowled; his irritation almost made him forget about his predicament. Almost.

Jordan turned in his seat, as if he was expecting the whole class to be bobbing their heads in agreement.

But he froze mid-turn. Because his eyes had landed on Peter.

Peter stiffened. The sweat dripping down his body tripled, not because of the sickness invading his system, but because someone had noticed him and the symptoms he happened to have.

Jordan stared at him and he glared back, daring him to say something. He knew though, that Jordan's abrupt lack of continuing his self-praise would cause people to look. He prepared himself.

It didn't take too long. One person turned to look at what Jordan was staring at, and it caused a chain reaction. One by one, people looked at him, taking in his overabundant sweat, breathing patterns, pale skin, and trembling that escalated by the second.

And Peter tried to hold it in, he really did, but he couldn't help it when the harsh itching of his throat grew to be too much, and a cough that turned into a fit escaped him.

If his appearance hadn't been enough, that certainly was.

The room was deathly still.

Peter's mind was flailing with thoughts. Should he try to talk his way out of this? Should he wait for the cops to come and fight his way out—? Maybe even go peacefully? Should he jump out the window—

The silence of the room and his struggling thoughts promptly shattered with the movement of his teacher.

Peter brought shaky eyes up to see Mrs. Davis; her face a mess of emotions.

Please don't read the Daily Bugle—

"Peter?" Her voice was oh so quiet, but it carried across the room and it wrecked its way through Peter's spirit. His breaths quickened. He tried to tell himself to calm down but it wasn't working. He could only wait in pained trepidation. Peter doubted that he could move even if he absolutely had to.

Thousands of emotions fluttered across Mrs. Davis's face. It felt like hours until they finally solidified into one: determination. Peter only had time to blink once before she held out a hand.

Confused he looked up at her. "Wha—?"

"Now is not the time for questions, Mr. Parker," she pointedly looked down at her hand. "Now, if you could please stand."

Peter quickly took her limb and stood. He tried to do so on his own, but he ended up mostly using her weight to pull himself up.

At the motion, vertigo hit him like a freight train and his vision blurred. He couldn't help but groan. He put his hands on his desk to steady himself, but he still felt himself swaying.

When his legs were about to fail him, something pressed itself against his side and went under his arm. Peter forced himself to open his eyes — no matter how much the light was starting to burn them. Gwen was there, giving him a beaming smile that was aimed to their teacher once his eyes had opened.

"Mrs. Davis, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she chided and briskly walked over to one of the many tall cupboards in the back of the room. She opened one. It had shelves on one side, but the other side was bare and held only a broom.  
Swiftly, she took the object out and deftly threw it behind the couch in the corner of her room.

She gently pushed Peter inside of it. Good thing he was flexible or he probably wouldn't of fit in the cramped space. He sat down to the best of his ability. Mrs. Davis walked to her desk to grab a key; Gwen walked to Peter's chair and grabbed his backpack.

His girlfriend bent down and handed him his bag, kissing his nose. Gwen stood up and sniffed; her worry was catching up to her again. He would've comforted her if not for the people in the background and his increasing condition; it felt like weights were being pressed against his lungs now.

Mrs. Davis smiled reassuringly at him, "Just sit tight. I'll let you out as soon as I can."

As she started to close the door, Peter peered around her and looked at the students whom he had grown up with for most of his life. Their faces surprised him.

They had the typical emotions he would've expected from a situation like this — astonishment and disbelief — but he saw something he wouldn't have expected flit over a couple faces. Awe.

But then the door closed and he was left in the darkness of the closest and the silence of his classmates.

He was grateful for his teacher's actions, truly, but if the others blabbed, then it would've all been for naught.

Peter focused on keeping his rapid breaths slow and even. He waited.

And far too soon, he heard a knock on the classroom's door.

~~**~~

Gwen's palms were covered with sweat. It was so challenging to convince herself that the liquid on her skin was from Peter and that it wasn't coming from herself. The many different possible scenarios that drifted through her head made her heart beat rise. With each outcome she conjured, she became more worried for Peter's sake.

She could only imagine how Peter felt.

So for him, she had to be calm. Forcing herself to sit in her desk, she placed her hands on her lap and took a couple deep breaths. Her eyes settled on the entrance to the room.

She barely managed to contain a flinch when a knock echoed from the door; the rest of the class jumped.

Light sweat dripped from the teacher's forehead as she opened the door.

"Thank you," a gruff voice sounded from behind the doorway. It was familiar to Gwen. She didn't have much time to think about it before the police officer came into the class. His closely shaven brown hair and brown eyes was a welcoming sight.

"Officer Forbes?" She tried to squash the relief that instantly filled her. He had been a long time friend of her dad, and therefore, the entire family but, sadly, that fact wouldn't be enough to prevent him from doing his job in arresting Spider-man. Though he had never been a avid hater of the vigilante…

"Miss Stacy!" He greeted her with a smile. Closing the door behind him, he walked over to her.

Gwen stood, willingly using the action as a conduit for her frantic emotions. She caught a glimpse of the bewildered faces of her classmates and contained a smile. "I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been? Is your family doing well?"

She nodded, though the motion was shaky. "We've been doing as well as we can."

"That's good." He paused, "I'm sorry I haven't visited your family Gwen."

She was quick to interrupt, "No, it's fine. I'm sure you've been busy." Within such a small time period, two new chiefs had already been picked after her dad. Repairing the city had been tedious and time-consuming for the first replacement, but when the latest chief had come in, the whole system had seemed to change to focus on Spider-man. The havoc the Lizard had created already forgotten.

Officer Forbes snorted, "No kidding… But I may not be as busy anymore."

Gwen's curiosity peaked, "What do you mean?"

"I'm thinking about retiring."

"What! Why?"

He sighed, "I don't mean to startle anyone," he looked at each face in the room, hesitating. "But I think the police system may be corrupt." Gasps shot out from the room; Gwen's was stifled. She had a sinking suspicion of what he was about to say. She had had her own similar thoughts.

Nonetheless, she asked, "How come?"

The look in his eyes was grim. "Besides the fact that the new chief became the head honcho through… unorthodox means, he keeps getting new equipment from who knows where. Like the darts that were used on Spider-man, no one knows where they came from. And all the new equipment seems to be specifically made for Spider-man." Gwen paled drastically. "When someone finally confronted him, the guy was immediately fired."

It was worse than Gwen thought. "What do you mean by unorthodox means?"

The police officer took a deep breath, "You didn't hear this from me, but he used bribery." Gwen's eyes widened. Bribing a Police Station? Her thoughts must have translated onto her face because he nodded, his anger clear. "He just came in with more money than one could count." He humorlessly laughed, "He even said he had more. Next thing I knew, Chief DeWolff was pushed out of her position, and Smerdyakov was made chief. No one can lay a finger on him." Officer Forbes's face wrinkled, and he crossed his arms. After a moment, he sighed. The sound was long and drawn.

"Sounds Russian," one of students randomly commented. The blonde didn't know who.

"It is," the officer confirmed.

Gwen swallowed, unsure if she could comprehend all that information. The looks on her classmate's faces told her they felt the same and more. The stiffness of their postures suddenly reminded her of why they were uneasy with the policeman that stood before her.

"Officer Forbes?" He looked up at the straight A student, "Why are you telling us this?" It seemed so careless of a police officer to say this to group of high schoolers after all.

He softly smiled, "People need to know Miss Stacy. It could make a big difference, no matter are young they are." His right eye closed in a wink, "Just look at your boyfriend."

Was he saying what she thought he was saying? But how did he-? Gwen abruptly recalled her dad saying a little before his death, "Your boyfriend is a man with many masks, I get it. Now get in the car." Officer Forbes had been nearby, waiting for Gwen to enter her dad's car when the deceased chief had said that.

"I refuse to stand by a corrupted system that targets an innocent man," the officer's voice called her back to reality. "And the public shouldn't have to either." The sound of static cut into everyone's thoughts, and their eyes drifted down to the walkie talkie on the man's waist.

"Your room clear, Forbes?"

The official lifted the device from his belt, pressed a button on the top, and spoke into it. "Checked the room. It's clear. Moving onto the next one." No one could question his blatant lie as he moved back towards the door. "It was nice to finally talk with you Miss Stacy," he called over his shoulder. Before Gwen could reply, he had reached the entrance of the room, but instead of opening it, he spun on his heel to face the class. "Per protocol, I'm supposed to ask you guys to keep a lookout for Spider-man and to contact the authorities if you do see him. But as a human being, I'd asked you to keep quiet." A knowing look passed through his eyes, and the teenagers that were able to catch it winced, wondering if they had been that obvious.

With a lift of his blue cap, he gave a courteous, "Have a good day." Then he was gone. The door shut, and the students were suddenly left with their thoughts and the awareness of the being in the closet.


	2. Glimpse

The silence was unbearable. And Peter was petrified.

It was getting harder to stay conscious, and he didn't dare pass out without knowing whose side his classmates were on: Spider-man's or the government's. Just because Officer Forbes left their classroom without revealing him didn't mean it was too late for the other students to turn him in. All they had to do was call the school's office and he would be done for.

He was startled with the sudden creak of the closet door opening, and the cramped corner he was situated in was flooded with light, burning his currently sensitive eyes. Lifting an appendage to shield them, he looked up to see his english teacher's hand. Peter reached up and grabbed the waiting limb, mostly relying on it to stand up.

Nausea hit him at his movement, and he bent over in a poor attempt to hinder it. A comfortingly cool hand contacted his shoulder — a stark contrast to the fire that seemed to coat his body. He subconsciously leaned into the touch before he was led forward by both the hand on his back and the hand he hadn't noticed he was still holding. Thankfully, his fever-red face hid his blush.

Without him even realizing it, his teacher had gently pushed him down onto the green couch in the corner of her room. Peter leaned into the soft material, unwittingly releasing a soft moan at the chance to finally relax somewhat. Someone squeezed into the remaining space on the couch: Gwen. He immediately took comfort in her presence despite the fact that all of his classmates had crowded in around him, unwilling to stall their curiosity. After all, everything pointed to him being the web-swinging superhero. And he was.

Even with his senses dulled, he could perceive everyone slowly inching closer, like he would disappear if they did otherwise. In a sudden burst of annoyance from the day in general, he allowed a Spider-manwisecrack to leak through his wimpy Peter Parker persona; not his wisest choice given the situation. Through a narrowed eye, he looked at the crowd and said, "Jeez, can't you give a guy a little space?" The reaction was bigger than what his addled mind expected. Without even a small amount of hesitation, everyone took at least two steps away from the couch, and the faces filled with disbelief became less sceptical.

Flash, however, only stepped backwards once. Suddenly, his red Spider-man shirt stood out that much more. Peter looked away; his face becoming slightly more rosy. Apparently, the lack of eye-contact was a cue to the self-righteous bully and athlete, Jordan, who stomped forward, shoved past Flash, and went right up to Peter's face. Whereas Peter's was ill and confused, Jordan's was full of scorn and arrogance. The class was silent, curious as to what the stereotypical jock would do. His features twisted even further.

"I can't— GAH!" The room jumped. "How can you guys be so stupid!?" He glared at the class before whirling around to Peter, harshly poking him on the chest. "There is absolutely no way that you of all people is Spider-man!" Peter was dumbfounded, and entirely unprepared for that outburst. Though in reality, he really should have been.

He didn't know how to respond. Would denying it help at all when everything pointed to him being the superhero? It was just Jordan who was too stubborn to believe it. But what if there was still a chance — no matter how naive that belief was — to say he wasn't the hero and to make up false evidence? Could he really destroy that possibility by admitting that he was indeed Spider-man? Or maybe none of it mattered in the first place. It could quite likely all be ruined by his classmates blabbing about what had occurred in the room today.

Frantic thoughts came to a halt when a large calloused hand clamped onto Jordan's shoulder and yanked him away.

The boy with the not-so-secret identity of Spider-man had been caught off guard by Jordan's exclamation, but he was completely shocked out of his wits when Flash defended him. "Leave him alone, man!"

Jordan knocked Flash's hand off of him with a forceful push, and he sent a harsh glare to the ex-bully. "Really!? Are you that lame? You get the smallest hint that someone is your number one hero and you crawl right to him when there is no way Puny Parker is 'the Amazing Spider-man!'" Flash didn't withhold a wince at the mention of his old nickname for Peter.

It was then the Mrs. Davis managed to get through the crowd of students to interfere. "That's quite enough Mr. Withmer!" She said with a sharp look at Jordan. "I will not allow any more of this negativity! Are we clear?" Jordan's face steeled itself and turned to the floor. "I said, are we clear?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"Good," she said, triumphantly. "Now Mr. Parker, you just sit here and sleep." It took Peter a moment to digest that. He was thoroughly befuddled when he did. Sleep? But he needed to leave — "The police are still searching the school, and you'll just grab their attention. We'll have to wait until the principal announces that the police have completed their investigation or wait until the end of class. By then, I'll have a pardon written so you can leave."

Peter frowned. If he were to be discovered, the police could look at Mrs. Davis's note and find out she had covered for him. "But you... might get… in trouble." It really was getting harder to speak. It was like his lungs were shaking from exertion, and his voice was rough like sandpaper. Every person in the room winced at the sound and the earth-shattering cough he expelled afterwards.

"Please," Mrs. Davis snorted, surprising the whole class, "Who cares about a silly thing like that? You need to rest Peter, and I have a class to teach." The students understandably started to voice their protests. She only pushed it off and gave a stern, "Get to your seats." After a moment of looking at Peter (he shifted uncomfortably the entire duration), they regretfully walked to their desks, abandoning their curiosity.

Gwen dutifully stayed squashed next to Peter on the couch, rubbing a finger along his sweaty hand. Mrs. Davis turned to her, "You too Miss Stacy." Gwen opened her mouth to argue, but Mrs. Davis spoke again before she could. "Mr. Parker isn't going anywhere, and someone needs to be able to catch him up on what he's missed."

Gwen's mouth thinned into a line before she kissed Peter's forehead and reluctantly stood up. "Yell if anything's wrong. Alright?" Her face was full of stubborn determination. Peter couldn't help but fondly roll his eyes.

He weakly smiled, "Alright, Miss bossy pants."

Gwen grinned, "What did you call me, bug boy?" The name seemed to spark some recognition in the sitting students, but Peter was either too tired or too oblivious at the moment to care. This was just Gwen and him talking, and he was fine with that.

Well, until their english teacher reminded them that she wanted Gwen in her seat.

With her back turned to him and his only joy gone, reality crashed onto him.

An entire class full of people knew his secret. What was to stop them from telling the rest of the school — or worse, the whole world — that Peter Parker was Spider-man?

But then the illness finally overpowered him, and he couldn't think of his dilemma any longer.

He passed out.

~~**~~

To say that Gwen's English class that day was interesting would be a drastic understatement. Everyone kept spacing out, even Gwen herself. Mrs. Davis had to ask every question twice, sometimes even thrice. Even then, the answers were frequent I don't knows.

After class had went on in this manner for about thirty-five minutes, Mrs. Davis sighed and rubbed a hand over her forehead, figuring it was time she gave up on teaching that day.

"Tomorrow," she said, "We'll be working twice as hard to cover what we missed today." Few people actually heard her, but, nonetheless, she handed out pointless worksheets. No one was doing it. The papers only got passing glances when the students peered out the windows or looked at each other. Mrs. Davis didn't scold them.

Although Peter was asleep, nobody knew what to say or do.

But the peace (if it could even be called that) was once again shattered, by an attention-seeking Jordan. At first, he started with mere groans and hums of frustration until it grew in volume and lead to a yell.

"This is ridiculous! You people can't really be thinking that he's Spider-man!" Silence greeted him, and the others turned away from his desk in the front. "You're so gullible! Get a little bit of proof, and that's all ya need. Please!" He scoffed and stood up, putting his hands on the back of his chair to leer at his classmates. Some became shamefaced at his comment. Others remained the same, if not more irritated. But a particular dark-haired brunette stayed just as thoughtful and still retained her light blush. Jordan latched onto her like a snake would to a mouse. "Course you would think that nerdy Peter Parker would be Spider-man, huh Missy?" The girl's head snapped up at the sound of her name, and she gripped her pink vest. "Only a nerd would think so highly of another nerd."

Gwen's eyes narrowed at that. Jordan was just despicable.

She glanced at their English teacher, who was watching the scene with angry eyes. However, she remained still in her chair, but she looked ready to pounce at a moment's notice. It made some sense, Gwen supposed. This discussion had to happen eventually, especially when all the people that knew Peter's secret were present. But Gwen had to think of something that would convince everyone that Peter wasn't Spider-man. This discussion would most likely be the thing that determined if Peter's secret was safe or not.

"Or," Jordan continued, "It's cause of your little nerd crush on him."

Missy blushed madly, but glared sharply through her glasses as she spoke. "Weren't you there in the gym when Peter broke the backboard? He completely demolished it after he jumped halfway across the gym to get to the basketball hoop! Do I even need to mention how he caught the basketball without even seeing it coming? Doesn't Spider-man do that all the time? He dodges bullets even when he's facing the other way! And doesn't Spider-man stick to buildings? Isn't that similar to when Peter had the basketball right in his hand and Flash couldn't even take it?"

As Missy talked, Jordan's smirk faded more and more until it dissolved into one thin line. The jock still didn't seem too convinced. On the other hand, the rest of the class was brimming with the new knowledge. Not many people had been in the gym when Peter had shattered the basketball backboard, but the event had spread like wildfire. Yet no one had believed that geeky Peter Parker could do such thing as well as humiliate Flash as he had. It had just been said to be a run of luck — either good or bad.

Dread filled her. Gwen shrunk into her seat. Of course now they were noticing how abnormal it had actually been.

"You know what everyone says," Jordan spoke. "It was pure luck. It was bound to break anyways. It was made out of glass. No way could a weakling like Parker actually break a backboard from nothing but luck."

"But maybe that's what he wants you to think," Missy said rather breathlessly, like she had just come to an ingenious conclusion. Some people's eyes widened in realization while others dulled in confusion, namely Jordan.

"Huh?"

"Think about it. Spider-man is well-known for being protective of his identity. Why would he bring attention to himself by being all strong like he's expected to be?"

Crap.

Gwen wasn't one for cursing but now all the dirtiest words she could think of filtered through her head. She was glad Missy was defending Peter, but she really wished she could keep her thoughts to herself. The blonde couldn't think of anyway to derail the conversation.

Abruptly, Jordan whirled his head to face Gwen; his face filled with a large tooth-filled smirk.

"So why don't we ask his girlfriend? I'm sure she would know if he's strong or not." Gwen blushed in both embarrassment and anger at the subtle implications of the statement.

Oh yeah, Gwen thought, he's strong. Strong enough to kick your —

"Well?"

Gwen glared up at Jordan as she answered. "Yeah." A sly grin slid onto her face. "Yeah, he's strong."

"But is he strong enough to be considered Spider-man?"

Gwen's grin disappeared. She didn't know how to answer. If she said no, everyone (except maybe Jordan) would just think she was just defending Peter's secret identity. If she said yes, they'd probably think that she was confirming it or something along those lines. But staying silent wasn't good either; that would just give them more time to stew and speculate. So, what could she say?

Right when she opened her mouth, Mrs. Davis finally interfered.

"That's enough, Mr. Withmer. Sit down and get started on your worksheet."

Suddenly, the announcements clicked back on, making everyone stiffen in their seats.

"Pardon the interruption. The police are done with their investigation, and would like to thank you for your patience and cooperation. Teachers and students are requested to contact the authorities if any person is believed to be their suspect. Thank you."

It was silent for a few moments before Mrs. Davis continued as if nothing had occurred."Miss Stacy, I suggest you wake up Mr. Parker. Now may be a good time to get ready to leave. I've already written him a sick note and a pardon for your absences."

"But Mrs. Davis, if someone finds it suspicious that Peter is leaving sick right after the police investigated the school, you could get into real trouble," Gwen said with concern.

"And as I've said to Mr. Parker, there is no need to worry Miss Stacy. I can handle this myself. All you need to worry about is getting him out of here; he's not quite out of the woods yet."

Gwen frowned but nodded and went to wake up Peter.

"Peter?" She shook his shoulder, leaning over him. He was unresponsive.

It took quite a few more heavier shakes for Peter to finally stir where he murmured, "Just five more minutes Aunt May."

Gwen rolled her eyes and fondly shook her head. "Not quite bug boy."

He blearily peeked out at her from under his eyelids. "Gwen?"

"We need to get you out of the school. Remember?" From the look on his face, he clearly didn't. His eyes blurred and lost their focus on her for a moment, drifting off to the side. He took notice of his classmates sitting in their desks, trying — and failing — to discreetly look back at him.

For a brief couple seconds, he wondered why (and what he was doing sleeping in school) before he recalled everything. Peter groaned.

Gwen gave a sympathetic smile in response. "I know, but we'll deal with it later. Right now we need to go."

The alter-ego of Spider-man wearily nodded and stood up, instantly falling forward. Gwen barely caught him and strained to hold him up.

"Sorry," Peter choked out; his body practically shaking from exertion.

"It's fine. Let's try to find some way to get you to stand. We have plenty of time. The police are leaving the school right now, and the more space we put between them and us, the better."

He nodded slowly and placed his forehead on her shoulder. Deep breaths filtered through his mouth to try to ward off the nausea that was overcoming him.

Gwen waited. Her free hand moved soothingly over his neck. She kept her attention on her suffering boyfriend, though that was difficult when she could feel stares piercing through her back.

Peter let out a discomforting cough as he inhaled, making him lose his already loose grip on her and almost collapse onto his shaking knees. The blonde had to move her hand from his neck and wrap it around his waist to prevent him from falling down completely.

Gwen had seen first-hand how bad Peter's injuries could get; she was always the one to clean and patch him up after all. It was exceptionally worrisome to see him get so ill when he hadn't gotten sick once since the spider bite. For that reason, it was a wonder as to how the police had gotten hold of a dart containing something able to make Peter this sick.

It all boiled down to the new police chief and how he had made claim of the position: bribery. He had to of gotten all the money from someone else. Most people wouldn't of used tons of cash to became head of a police station, especially if they had gained their money through illegal means. They just would of thought that they would be turned in immediately. So if the new chief hadn't been arrested, that meant he either had really that much money, or he had someone backing him up that could pose a threat to the police or make him seem credible… Or maybe both.

That would definitely explain how the police were getting so much equipment. But it was curious as to how they had been able to create something that would make Spider-man sick.

Gwen barely withheld a gasp when another thought struck her. Why would they bother making some concoction that would make him sick? Wouldn't using a tracker or a tranquilizer be more simple and save both time and energy? Sure, she supposed it would be easier, for both bystanders and policemen, to identify someone with specific ailments in a crowd full of people, and it would make it easier to catch Spider-man when he's weaker. But those were really the only pros against the many cons.

It didn't make any sense.

Just then, Peter stood up, mostly on his own strength.

"Are you ready?" Gwen asked, patient as ever. He nodded a yes. She gave a reassuring grin and manoeuvred her arms to make it seem like Peter wasn't depending on her to stand. Peter followed and did the same as her, putting an arm around her shoulders while she kept one on his waist. It was clear that he was leaning on her more than necessary, but otherwise his tilted stature was hidden.

Moving slowly to get used to their positioning, they walked over to their desks to grab their backpack and binder before heading to the other side of the room, all the while ignoring the ever-present gazes set on them. It was unnerving for Peter to be under so much attention without his mask.

Mrs. Davis waited by the door, an encouraging but slightly uneasy smile on her face. "You two have a ride out, right?"

"Yeah, kind of." Gwen responded, "We'll be taking a taxi." They didn't exactly have a car at hand. Peter could web-swing to get around, and Gwen's priorities was studying, not getting a car. So riding a taxi was really their only option at the moment.

Their english teacher's displeasure was obvious from her turned lips and creased brows. She spun on her heels and walked towards her desk in the front of the room, throwing a "Wait there," over her shoulder. A drawer was opened; she pulled a wallet out from it.

Peter grimaced and a protest formed on his lips, but a light thwack on the back of his head stopped him.

"You and your morals," Gwen teased him. "Are you sure, Mrs. Davis? I'm sure we have enough to pay for a taxi," which was both a truth and a lie. Peter didn't have enough free time for a job because of his alter-ego, and the money he earned from the Daily Bugle immediately went to the house bills to help Aunt May out, who couldn't afford to give Peter an allowance. Gwen got little money from her internship at Oscorp, and she didn't have an allowance due to her amount of siblings. She was sure she could find enough in her locker to pay for a taxi ride though.

Mrs. Davis only grinned, like she could sense the small lie in Gwen's statement. "If it really makes you two feel better, you can give the money back to me if you don't use it. Okay?"

Before Peter could argue against it, Gwen genuinely smiled and accepted the money. "Thanks again Mrs. Davis."

"Yes, yes, now get going. Class is about to end. Don't worry about checking in at the office; I'll hand in your pardons myself."

"If you're sure…" Gwen murmured, helping Peter turn around towards the door. Even though they had done so slowly, Peter still pitched forward as his dizziness repelled against his movement. He managed to catch himself by placing a hand on the door's frame. Unknowingly to Peter and Gwen, his jacket raised just enough above his hip to reveal a glimpse of blue and red with silver lining. Jordan choked.

"Peter! Are you okay?" His concerned girlfriend asked as he had yet another coughing fit.

"Yeah," he coughed. "Let's just... get out of here."

So, as quickly as possible, they headed towards the door, not aware of every pair of eyes staring at their backs with an identical gleam.

~~**~~

The first thing Peter did when they arrived at Gwen's house was fall flat on his face.

About halfway through the trip, he had started panting like a dog in the desert. He was pretty sure the shaking of his legs was worthy enough to be called an earthquake simulator, and when he coughed, it was equivalent to a force capable of destroying mountains. Yet, he was fairly positive just one very strong gust of wind would knock him over because of his vertigo. With each breath of his lungs, it felt as if he were getting closer to a bonfire at each exhale and as if he were close to getting frostbite at each inhale. And he had yet to mention that it felt like his own skin was going to slide off.

To sum it all up: he felt utterly dreadful.

Gwen didn't say anything — which was worrying enough on its own.

She helped him walk to her room where she eased him onto her couch like she did when he was injured. They (meaning Gwen) took his jacket and Spider-man top off. Cool air hit his sweat soaked skin, and he blissfully sighed, only to do so again when the blonde put a cool rag on his forehead.

"Better?" It took him a moment to respond.

"Much."

Peter embraced the silence, but Gwen knew she had to tell him what had occurred while he was asleep.

"...Missy mentioned the time you broke the backboard in the gym." Brown eyes snapped opened. He groaned.

"'Course she did." It was his typical Parker luck after all. "Anyone believe her?"

Gwen bit her lip, "I think everyone did. Except Jordan." She watched him. His face was blank, though his eyes told her everything. "Missy said that 'Puny Parker' is just a facade to hide your actual identity." At this, Peter brought his palm to his mouth, covering his features.

"They… believed it." It wasn't a question, but Gwen hummed a yes in confirmation.

"... What do we do?"

Peter moved his hand back to his side; his face stoic.

"There isn't anything—" he coughed, throwing his whole upper body forward and flinging the rag onto his chest. As Peter coughed, Gwen rinsed the rag and wetted it, once again placing it on his head. "To do," he finally finished, speaking much more softly. "They're going to go screaming… about me to… everyone. All it'll… take is one phone... call to the police."

The straight A student frowned, "I don't think so, Peter." He was full of disbelief; his eyes begged her to explain. She gently kissed his nose, thumbing his hand as she talked. "With Officer Forbes openly disobeying his orders and supporting you, I think everyone will be less inclined to call the police."

Peter openly stared at his and Gwen's hands. His eyes held the smallest amount of hope, but it was shrouded in dread. "Maybe…"

She smiled, "You'll see Peter. It'll be fine… And also…" He looked at her, "They don't have any proof. We never told anyone where we were heading, so it's too late for anyone to report your symptoms, especially if you feel better by the end of the day. And the rest of the school still believes your 'Puny Parker' persona, so they can't go gossiping about you, everyone will think they're just crazy, not without proof. And they definitely can't go to the news without that."

The blonde smiled as he relaxed somewhat. "So I'll just... have to avoid… crazy teenagers with cameras... No big deal."

"You talking about yourself?" She joked. Peter shook his head with a soft laugh. Abruptly, Gwen grew somber. "But I don't think that's the only thing you'll have to avoid, Peter…"

"Huh?"

She looked down, eyes overcast in worry. "Well, the new chieftain, he has to be getting all of his money and equipment from somewhere. And all that equipment is used to try to catch you, Peter."

"So it's not really... the police that want to… get me," he summarized.

"Right, and not only that. Wouldn't it of been much easier to use a tracker or a tranquilizer in the dart? Instead, they used that complex formula to get you sick. You never get sick."

Peter's eyes met hers, filled with urgency as understanding flowed over him.

"Peter, someone's out to get you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I wasn't clear enough, Missy is the girl that was painting the banner in the gym when Flash knocked her bucket over. Missy Kallenback is her official name.


	3. Boundaries

The door clicked shut behind him, locking out the sunlight that wasn't streaming into the house through the open windows. It was the only light source: meaning Aunt May wasn't home. Probably for the best since school had yet to end. Aunt May basically already thought he did drugs in the time he went out as Spider-man; she didn't need to think he ditched school too.

Peter walked up to his bedroom with a weary sigh. His gait was slightly slow and unsteady, but it was still better than what it had been the first few hours after he had been shot with a dart. He had slept most of the sickness off throughout the day after Gwen had left (or when Peter had convinced her to leave him) to go back to school. Despite how exhausted he had been both before and after his girlfriend had left, he didn't fall asleep as quickly as one would think. His mind had raced with what Gwen had told him. It still was.

He didn't know how to feel with the new knowledge that someone was out to get him. Yes it was obviously bad, don't get him wrong, but it was slightly more comforting — no matter how misguided the comfort was — to know that just one person and his lackeys were after him instead of the police force: the men Captain Stacy had worked with. But then again, some policemen had willingly fired at him, and the person after him had a bunch of resources at his disposal if he could take control of a police station and give them equipment. It was then that Peter's deceptive comfort vanished. So much for optimism.

As if the creak of its hinges would disturb the uneasy silence of the household, Peter slowly opened his bedroom door. He felt exposed. His nerves raw from trepidation. According to Gwen, his classmates wouldn't tattle to authority and give them just the evidence they needed to take him in for questioning or maybe even arrest. He appreciated her positive outlook, but it was far too early to tell if he was safe. The police may not be able to test him for the sickness they had purposefully injected into him, but it was his classmates' word against his own.

He hated that he couldn't do anything. He could only wait. But he could at least learn from Gwen's positivity, and be a little more optimistic himself. He couldn't do anything about his classmates, but he could do something about the police.

Peter gingerly got up from his bed and walked back down the stairs to reach his destination: the basement.

Not every police officer was after him, so Peter just had to go after the current chief, Smerdyakov, as Officer Forbes had called him. Someone was orchestrating something big, something Peter knew didn't just include corrupting the police force. Smerdyakov was just one line of string out of the many controlled by the big man himself. Peter needed to find out who that was and why he wanted him caught. And he would only need to follow Smerdyakov's line of string to do just that.

His hands moved over his tools and cheap mechanics, finding the materials he would need. Hopefully, he would be done with it before night or maybe even before Aunt May returned home.

Hours passed as he worked, and it was spent alternating between the basement and his bedroom floor, all the while peering at tiny pieces of metal and wire. Eventually, he finished his device.

He flipped it in between his hands before thumbing the small mechanism. It was nowhere near the size of his thumb nail, but it would do.

Checking the time, Peter saw he still had about an hour or so until Aunt May got home and, thereon, a few hours after. Plenty of time to do what he planned to.

~~**~~

Considering it was situated in New York CIty, the police station was pretty isolated. It had no neighboring towers, and it had at least a street's width in between it and the surrounding buildings. Peter had already known of its location before, but seeing it know made him realize how difficult sneaking into the station might be.

He couldn't jump onto the roof from a nearby building. He would probably survive the leap, but he would undoubtedly be seen. He could just imagine the unnecessary backlash that would cause, from the Daily Bugle especially.

No, he would have to wait this out, and find a lapse in traffic so he could travel on foot. So he discreetly (or maybe not so discreetly. It's hard to be discreet with a red and blue skin-tight suit) hung from a web on a water-tower, actively watching the traffic on the street that had seemed to have the least amount of cars.

But with it being New York, it was taking a while for there to be a pause in traffic. He wished he could just change from his civilian clothes to his costume right next to the building, but there wasn't anything thick enough for him to change behind.

Yet, strangely, Peter wasn't bored. He was irritated that it was taking so long, but he wasn't at all bored. He pondered if he had always been like this, or if this was another side-effect of the spider-bite. And this would be the equivalent of a spider waiting for prey. Peter shivered and balked slightly at the comparison, but then that was when there was finally a break in traffic.

It was a relatively large street, and there were no cars traveling down it besides a couple turning onto or off of the street. It was getting darker, and that would aid him a bit in hiding the brightness of suit. This was his chance (a part of him felt forlorn at that. It had really been relaxing and a nice change of pace).

He sprung straight off of his string of webbing and landed directly onto the sidewalk below. Before the car heading his direction could get any closer, Peter sprinted forward in a slightly-hunched stance in the small hope it would keep people from identifying him. He made it to one of the few trees behind the police station long before the vehicle reached him, but he stayed pressed against the tree's trunk, out of sight, until it passed. Checking the surroundings for any more cars with his eyes and ears, he quickly scaled up the building's wall once it was mostly clear, hoping that the tree would help cover him.

Once he reached the roof, he headed towards the air vent he had see earlier from his perch. Peter thought it was kinda dumb for a police station to have such a big and accessible air vent where people could easily sneak in (namely him), but he supposed that they didn't think that there would be people that could climb up walls (also him). They still should've known better.

He crawled down the inside of the ventilation shaft. When the shaft changed to run horizontally instead of vertically, Peter didn't even notice.

He was lightly moving forward on his fingertips and toes with his arms and legs tucked as close to him as possible to make sure he didn't make a sound. His spider-sense was silent, and when he came along the first grate, the light of the room below shining into the vent, he let himself relax a miniscule and listened in to the conversations below. Hopefully he would hear something useful.

" — did ya catch the chick in black?"

"Nah, she got away on that grappling hook again."

"What's with this city? First guys on webs and now chicks on hooks?"

Peter muffled a snort, storing that information into his head for future reference (anyone crazy enough to use something other than a car or gun for escape was worth noting in his book). Upon seeing it wasn't the spot he was looking for, he moved along to the next grate.

"How'd the deadlock on— "

"Have you heard of the new restaurant by—"

He moved on to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. None of the grates led to the room he needed to find... or maybe it was all one room. It was hard to tell if all the grates were in the same room or not. So either the police station had too many rooms, or the ventilation shaft had far too many grates with too much space in between them that gave the illusion of having a lot of rooms. Peter briefly wondered if that was coincidence, or if it was planned when the place was built. He wished he had more reliable information than his own observation of the station when he had came here to see Captain Stacy.

It was then that he finally overheard a useful conversation as he came upon the next grate.

" — always goes out huh?"

"Shh! Don't let anyone hear you say that, or then one of his pets might just tell him and throw you out. Just like the last guy."

Peter cocked his head to the side. Officer Forbes had said something about an officer being fired when he had asked where their new equipment was coming from. Were they talking about Smerdyakov?

"Bah! It don't matter. It's still the truth ain't it? He always goes out, same time each night, and the next day we usually get a new batch of weapons to hunt Spidey. Since when was this our job, Kev?" The other officer, Kev, stayed quiet. Peter swallowed. He wished he could say something to him, but he got the information he needed.

Smerdyakov wasn't in the building, so Peter could sneak right into his office. Now he just had to find it. He remembered where Captain Stacy's office was, and if Smerdyakov was using the same room, Peter would only have to figure out where it was from the vents. He went in the vague direction he hoped it was in.

Thankfully, because of the conversation he had overheard, it was very telling when he had found the office. Since Smerdyakov wasn't here, his room was dead silent, absent of any form of speech.

With a quick double-check of the room with his spider-sense and his other senses, he concluded the room was indeed vacated. He peeked his head through the vent's opening to see if the blinds of his office window were shut. They were. Peter silently dropped into the room.

He wished he had someway to verify that this was indeed the right room—

There was a policemen's identification on the desk. Briefly rubbing his hand over the black material, he picked it up, opened it, and, lo and behold, his name — Dmitri Smerdyakov — was written on the ID card above the official police badge. Peter would definitely look that up later. But what kind of police officer left their identification in their office?

He shook his head and placed it back on its previous spot on the desk. This was the right room; that was all he needed to know.

With a quick examination of the area, he noticed the small space between the large black file cabinets and the wall in the corner of the room. A perfect spot for his device. He just hoped that his creation would work… and that it wouldn't get spotted. He probably should have chosen a better and more obscure design. What other nutjob besides himself would create something that resembles a spider?

Hopefully the shade the cabinet casted onto the wall would help hide it.

Just as Peter attached his device to the wall, the door knob to the office began to turn as if it was in slow-motion just to give Peter the time he needed to react. Instantly, he sprang up to the ceiling, deftly moved through the vent opening, and replaced the grate just as the door opened.

He held his breath and remained deathly still.

The man — judging from the weight of his footfalls and his voice — walked around the room, humming to himself. He lifted a couple objects and shuffled some papers, before he walked to where Peter approximated the desk was. The man picked something up. Something that opened up with the sound of fabric hitting fabric — the badge.

The man clicked his tongue in a manner that imitated disappointment. "Dmitri, you know he won't be happy with this." A shiver ran up Peter's spine.

Before he could contemplate what he meant, the man walked out the door, shutting it with a soft click. Peter was scurrying down the shaft without even realizing he had done so. Did he work for the man in charge too? How many of the officers only had their jobs for the big man's purpose? His mind was too busy trying to analyze the man's words. A grave mistake on his part.

Just that slight shift of focus was all that needed to go for him to make a slight mistake.

Peter's elbow tapped the edge of the shaft. He froze.

From below came a muffled, "Did you hear that?"

Shit.

There were various clicks of gun's safety being turned off. Police officers sure didn't take any chances. Specifically when a sound came from the ventilation shaft. Peter probably should've planned this a bit better.

The stealth option was out; they knew he was there. So he went as fast as he could towards where he hoped the exit was.

He'd never been more thankful for his spider-sense… and bad aim.

The police only had a vague idea of his location from the almost non-existent sounds of his hands and feet hitting metal, so their shots were way off. Only few were close to hitting him. Even then, his spider-sense warned him, and he would only have to move his leg or arm to avoid them. The rate of his heart slowed more and more as each shot missed… until there was one shot that was heading straight for his chest.

His spider-sense blazed an inferno, and he leapt as far and as fast as he could to the side of the shaft.  
He wasn't fast enough. He couldn't of been fast enough. There wasn't nearly enough room to dodge a shot that direct.

The bullet embedded itself into his bicep. He couldn't help but cry out in alarm and pain.

All movement ceased, even his own. Everything zeroed onto the object his arm.

Then his spidey sense once again tingled, and it was the only thing that grounded him to reality. The one thing that was reminding him that he needed to get out. The rest of him was centered around the throbbing of his arm and the enclosed space that only gave him one direction of escape.  
That state of mind lasted for a total of five seconds before his body accepted the hot burst of adrenaline and the cold rush of pain.

Peter moved towards where he was almost positive the exit was. His arm burned at the movement, but he couldn't let it hold him down.

The rest of the shots never again reached the same proximity, and they were dwindling in amount as they ran out of bullets.

Before he knew it, the horizontal placement of the air shaft changed to go up vertically, and he was soon breathing in the harsh slap of a gust of wind. He would take fresh New York air over gunshots anyday.

Shouts drew him back to the present and his hurting arm. He quickly leapt up into the air, shot a web to the nearest scraper, and, with one arm, started to swing his way to Gwen's.

He hadn't even traveled a block before he realized he shouldn't go to her. He couldn't. She had helped him plenty enough already, and Peter, despite her claiming otherwise, knew she was deeply worried about the police being after him. He didn't need to add him getting shot to her already full plate. And he had enough experience getting bullets out on his own. He had forced himself to right after Captain Stacy had passed.

So with a slight amount of regret of keeping a secret from Gwen, he started heading in the opposite direction: his house. He tried comforting himself with the thought that this would also help throw the police off his trail if they had already been tailing him.

~~**~~

Peter once again closed the front door behind him as he entered his house. This time, however, the lights inside were on, meaning that Aunt May was home.

He cursed underneath his breath.

When he was a couple blocks away from his house, he had tried to dress out of his suit, but he had stopped when his arm had bled more from his attempts at getting it off. He had kept his costume top on to try and maintain the bleeding, but spandex didn't do much to help. So he had tried to to bandage his arm the best he could with webbing.

It had helped, a lot. Most of the blood had soaked into the strong substance or pooled underneath it, but by the time he had reached his home, some blood had leaked through. He was past the point of being light-headed. The adrenaline rush from before had long since faded, and he was now struggling to think past the pain in his arm and trudge onward. The one thing he could think positively about was that the bullet had also gone through the police station's wall (yet another defect of that building. Seriously, they were police officers. Shouldn't they have the walls made just to stop bullets?), so it's speed had been severely halted. The bullet hadn't gone nearly as deep as it could have.

But that still didn't stop his face from paling a bit from the loss of blood. Not to mention that he was still recovering from the sickness, so his face was probably not only pale from blood loss, but from the illness as well. And his hair was still slicked with sweat. And he was still pretty sweaty in general. And he was still having just the teensiest bit of difficulty breathing. Really, he could go on all day. And they all were amazing things to explain to his Aunt.

So he stepped around the corner of his kitchen, fully expecting Aunt May to be sitting at the table, with her concerned and irritated expression, like she always did when she was expecting him to come home late with bruises and wounds.

What Peter wasn't expecting, was to see Aunt May sitting at the dining table with Flash. Talking with each other… in his house… He was a lot more out of it then he thought if he hadn't heard Flash talking… with his Aunt… in his home...

What was Flash doing in his house!?

As if his thoughts called him out, Flash turned his head his head towards him right as Peter realized that the other teen had a perfect view of the dark red blotch on his jacket; the blood that had managed to leak through his webbing. Peter was expecting his mouth to fly open, for him to possibly yell and ask what had happened, but his jaw only clenched together, shifting to the side and back. The only change in expression caused by Peter's appearance was his eyebrows drawing together in astonishment and concern (which was funny. Since when did Flash care?). His eyes examined Peter's white and sweaty face before trailing to his arm and then snapping to the ground by Peter's feet.

A drop of his blood had fallen to the floor. Peter quickly smudged it with his foot and moved his body so his arm was out of their line of sight, just as Aunt May twisted around in her chair to face him.

Socialization with Flash and his apparent return home had brought a warm smile to her face, but it vanished as she took in his.

She shot out of her seat, "Peter! Oh my— what happened?"

Before Aunt May could get any closer and risk the chance of seeing his bloodied arm, he held up a hand, halting her immediately and bringing a confused expression to her face. He tried to send her a reassuring smile, well aware of how fake it was.

"It's fine, Aunt May. I'm just not feeling too good. I need some sleep, that's all." It was sickening how easy the lie fell from his lips.

And it was heart-wrenching to see how aware Aunt May was of the lie. Her expression fell, but then she paused. After a moment, she slowly said. "Well… If you're sure."

Peter blinked in confusion.

She turned to Flash, "Why don't you go up with him to his room dear? You said you needed a tutor for school, right? I'm sure Peter would be happy to help you. Why don't you two set up a schedule while I make some dinner."

Aunt May walked into the kitchen before they could say anything, a clear dismissal.

Peter held in a groan and walked up to his bedroom without waiting to see if Flash was following. His day absolutely could not get any worse, and he didn't understand Aunt May's reasoning. What was she expecting to come out of this? It wasn't like he was going to tell his deepest and darkest secrets to Flash only for him to rat them out to his Aunt.

He would just have to get rid of Flash. The sooner the better since there was no way that he was going to dig a bullet out of his own arm with his ex-bully present. Not unless he wanted to further compromise his not-so secret identity.

Flash shut the bedroom door as Peter searched through his closet for the first aid kit he kept there. Though he wasn't going to get the bullet out yet, he could at least bandage it and stop the blood flow. But it was definitely going to hurt.

Not caring that Flash was watching, Peter bit his lip and started to wrap his arm.

"Your Aunt made up the tutor thing — well, not completely, but I don't think that's why she wanted me to talk to you," Flash said. Peter made one loop around his arm with the bandages, not sure how to respond or what Flash was going to say. "It's just… she cares about you, man. She cares about you a lot." Flash swallowed, trying to remove a non-existent lump in his throat. Peter's movement stopped, and he waited. "And even I can tell that… what you're doing... is really hurting her." Peter sighed lowly. He knew that. Of course he knew that. But he could never stop being Spider-man.

At least Peter now knew that, without a doubt, Flash truly believed he was Spider-man, and there wasn't going to be any chance of telling him otherwise

"And just what do I do, Flash?" His voice, though fringed with the smallest amount of nervousness, was as calm and even as the silence that followed.

"My dad," Flash answered instead with abrupt vulnerability that made Peter turn to fully face him. "My dad…" he repeated with a rough and angry, yet sad, swallow that disappeared as he steeled himself; his voice gained a sarcastic bite, "Harrison got drunk. A lot. And his beer bottles always found their way towards me... The one thing the bastard taught me is how to get glass out of your own skin and how to treat it yourself afterwards." Peter didn't know what to say to that. The implications of the one statement sent him reeling. Would Flash of stopped bullying sooner if there were simply a friend for him to lean on? He felt slightly nauseous at the thought; guilt washed through him. But then Flash made eye contact with him and he just understood why he was telling him this. It wasn't for pity nor was it to inflict guilt.

"I won't tell anyone, Peter." It was shocking just how truthful that declaration was. If the conviction in his voice wasn't enough, Flash speaking his name for probably the first time definitely helped.

Peter knew he could trust him. "I wish everyone else would say the same," he said with a half-hearted chuckle. If only that were true. He eased himself next to Flash on his bed with the first-aid kit in his hand.

"They'll come around," Flash said. "I'll make sure of that."

"Do they... Are they the same as you?"

"You mean are they also stubborn assholes?" He joked.

Peter lightly chuckled and nervously licked his lips, "I mean do they think —no— do they know — I mean do they think they know that Spider-man — I mean me —- that I'm... " He cut himself off, hands finding his face. That was embarrassing. He had never said that he was Spider-man out loud before. He never could've before predicted that he would be saying this to Flash of all people.

He got the surprise of a lifetime when Flash full-on laughed, throwing his head back as the booming sound erupted. The other teen slapped him on the back and threw an arm around his shoulder, somehow avoiding the throbbing injury that had all but faded into the background.

"Parker, you are just full of surprises. The kid I used to pick on ends up being my idol," he couldn't withhold a blush at that, "but then you're not even that cool. You're just an ordinary guy. Don't take that the wrong way. I just mean that well… As Spider-man, no one knows who you are. And that's just it. No one knows who you are, so everyone, even dumb ol' Jameson, has wondered just who has the… guts, and the skills, and the pure awesomeness to do what you do. And when you try to connect that to just ordinary people like me, you just gotta wonder who that person is. What drove them to do that amazing stuff. How a person like that can even exist. But here you are. And you are every bit the dork I've always known you to be, and yet… dang Pete... I'm amazed. Honestly, man."

Throughout Flash's little speech, Peter's blush had somehow both deepened and faded as a warm and comforting tingling enveloped him. No one had ever said anything about him like that before. Ever.

Gwen's encouragement and praise came from her actions; it was a given and a constant. But it was different with Flash. He was a… fan (Peter cringed in embarrassment at that no matter how much it was said). And it was… nice to hear such compliments when he was so used to ridicule from the Daily Bugle.

"Thanks, Flash."

He simply smiled. It morphed into a grimace when his eyes fell onto the gunshot wound. "We really should fix your arm now."

Peter, though thrown off by the mention of we, sheepishly grinned and nodded through the pain that had returned to the forefront of his thoughts.

Slowly, they removed Peter's jacket. And it wasn't until Flash froze and stared did Peter realize that he still had his suit on.

The paleness of his face didn't help his blush in the slightest, but he pushed past it. Since the webbing had dissolved slightly from the time frame, he was able to rip it off. The blood that had pooled underneath the substance immediately started to run down his arm.

Peter wished he had grabbed some paper towels or something. Too late now. He cleared his throat, "You think you want to get the bullet out or should I?"

That snapped Flash out of his trance. He whitened at the question but shook his head. "I'll try it. Though I'm not too sure you should be trusting me with this. I don't think removing glass is the same as taking out bullets."

"It's kind of the same. Depends on how big and deep the glass is." Peter's straight and blunt answer made Flash pause.

"Oh... Right. You've probably had to take a lot of glass out before huh."

He snorted, "You have no idea. Windows have some weird obsession with me. Gwen's a bit jealous, I think."

Flash's head turned slightly from side to side as he tightly chuckled and took out the tweezers from the first-aid kit.

He moved the small tool towards Peter's injury but didn't do anything; his hand hovered.

"Um, so how many times have you've been shot?"

"Three. Including this one."

"So you know what to do?"

It was incredibly strange to see Flash nervous. Which made him wonder why he was nervous in the first place, considering the story he had just told him. But Flash had also said he had only treated himself. Maybe he just didn't know how to help others?

"I got everything I know from google," Peter said. All of Flash's movement halted as his nerves seemed to spike at that information. Peter grimaced and unhelpfully supplied, "And, you know, my own bag of experience." That seemed to worsen it — whatever it was — even further. "It— It's fine though. I mean what can you... do?" His statement turned into a question when he saw the look on Flash's face.

"Jesus, Parker."

Peter was horribly confused. "Huh?"

"You're acting like this is normal, man!"

"...This kind of is the norm for me, Flash."

Flash deflated, making that the second oddest thing he saw that day concerning his once bully. "Right. Arm. Okay. Let's just fix that."

Peter was just as willing as Flash to put that behind him (he was still hopelessly confused, but he honestly just did not want to think about it anymore. Not when he was still dealing with a gunshot wound).

"Shouldn't we take your suit off?" Flash said with a surprisingly straight and resigned face.

"I'd rather not." Taking the suit off would make removing the bullet so much easier, but Peter did not want to deal with the pain of taking the fabric off or resewing it if the only way they could get it off was through cutting it. Just… no.

"Okay man, if you're sure." With that, Flash finally positioned the tweezers so they were just above the wound. "So I just, um, take it out?" Peter was kind of regretting letting Flash do this (he was starting to believe Flash only saw the things he wished to see, and that was why he couldn't see the blood dripping down his arm or see the pain on his face).

"Yeah just don't let it—" Peter cut himself off when Flash's expression had somehow intensified. "Nevermind, just remember that faster is better."

Despite Flash's obvious anxiety, his hands were steady and efficient. His experience with removing glass from skin was finally showing.

Peter bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and turned his head away as the bullet moved through his skin. Even if this was pretty normal for him, it did not make it hurt any less.

"There," Flash said when the bullet popped out of his arm not even a minute later.

"Th-Thanks — ergh — but if we e-end up doing this again, make sure you don't take so l-long."

The other teen grimaced, "Sorry, guess I took a while to get to it, huh."

"Just a b-bit."

With a shaky hand, Peter took the roll of bandages from the kit and started to wrap his arm, until Flash took over for him. He was definitely better at wrapping.

It was silent as he worked. Peter was finally feeling the full effects of blood loss. He's just happy it happened now instead of during the weird conversation earlier. When the other teen finished wrapping, he fell down on to his bed and closed his eyes. He was tempted to fall asleep right there.

But he wasn't done yet. He wanted to ask Flash so many things (like why he had even came to his house in the first place), but there was one thing that was even more important to him at the moment.

"So how did you come believe that I'm… you know."

It took a while for Flash to answer. "I didn't know what to think at first. It seemed too crazy to think that Spider-man went to the same school as me, the same class, and was even the same age. But then I thought of the basketball thing… and how you got all those bruises all the time. And still do. It kinda just clicked then."

Peter frowned when he mentioned the bruises; he wished there were some way he could fix that as it certainly helped weaken his secret identity. But the frown quickly vanished and was replaced with a small smile; Flash hadn't said anything about him being disappointed that his bullying victim had turned out to be his hero.

The bed moved as Flash shifted towards him. He could practically feel the tension radiating off of the other.

"Missy also mentioned that to the rest of the class, and talked about how you're just acting to hide how strong you really are."

Peter tiredly sighed, "Yeah. Gwen told me."

"Course she did," he muttered. "Well, anyway, that was probably what convinced most of us. But that wasn't what really convinced everyone."

Peter's frown returned, and he opened his eyes.

"When you and Gwen were leaving, when you tripped and fell… you were wearing your suit underneath it… So everyone saw that."

"Shit." Peter was kind of (not really) okay with just one person knowing his identity but not an entire class full of people. Despite everyone having just the evidence they needed to believe he was Spider-man, he had been hoping that he would've been able to play it off and make some people, namely ones like Jordan, think otherwise. But there was only one lunatic that went around in bright red and blue spandex. So if it was too late to convince them that he wasn't Spider-man, how was he supposed to convince them not to tell anyone?

~~**~~

“....O-Oh, sir! I wasn’t expecting to see you h-here!”

“What is the progress of the formula?”

“O-Oh, r-right! As of now, approximately ninety-eight percent has left the subject’s body.”

“Hmmm. And when it was at fifty percent?”

“It had only been four hours then, sir.”

“Impressive… I’ll give him that... at least. But that is all he’ll receive… that is all he’lll ever receive... Send the data to the scientists. Tell them to proceed.”


End file.
